


The eaten and the damned

by GucciRhymesWithDucky



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Gen, Horror, Vore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:47:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22430551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GucciRhymesWithDucky/pseuds/GucciRhymesWithDucky
Summary: On some of the perhaps more obsure practical applications of being a smoke goo zombie.
Kudos: 2





	The eaten and the damned

**Author's Note:**

> My apologies to MCR.
> 
> Written for "100 words of soft nonsexual vore."

The smoke of him pooled around her feet. Her eye swollen and glued shut with blood, she still knew him instantly by scent—decaying flesh, sulfur, something medicinal—and by the cold he brought into the air wherever he went. Come to kill her. If Talon tired of her unwillingness to cooperate, then they'd be the last people to stop him from crossing a name off his list.

"Thought you were better than some attack dog, Gabriel." Still she tried to hold her head high. He lapped at her bound ankles, like dogs' tongues. Her hands cringed in their cuffs, but there was no getting loose. Any moment she expected to feel the barrel of a shotgun against the back of her head. She squared her shoulders. If he really was no better than some dog, she would not be enfeebled game trembling at the moment of the kill. She would deny him that satisfaction.

She gasped when the cold surged up her legs. Her leg tried to kick out; her ankle twisted in its binding—and her knee met something viscous. It—he—coiled around her waist, crawled up her back. The pit of her stomach crumpled.

Tongues of smoke and slime teased her throat, dragged up her cheek. The stench stronger—hammering the space between her eyes. Engulfing. Spilling into her mouth and her nostrils and her eye. They—it— _he_ —swallowed her.

Somehow, like this, he was every state of matter at once. Impermeable, he wrapped around her—skin-tight to every limb—steel-tough but liquid enough to _squelch_ with her every wriggle of resistance. And it moved; it licked and laved her open wounds, her bruises, her throbbing eye. When it touched her wounds, it filled her veins with cold. The fetid, aqueous smoke of him strangled her; she could breathe but not _breathe_. He was in her throat, in her lungs. And she was in him—somewhere. Solid enough that she felt tremors of his body with his every movement. Not walking. It moved sinuous, serpentine; likely they weren't even on the ground.

She was inside it, and it was easier to think it an _it_ , this entity that consumed her, not a dog, not an animal—not human—not Gabriel. A force of nature, mindless as a storm. _It_ swallowed her alive and she was going to die like this. Inside of it. Inside of him.

It was easier to think it a force of nature than that he, even if he now hated her, even if he wanted her dead, would do something like this to her. A force of nature, a storm, a sea—

that could swallow her and spit her onto shore with equal caprice.

She landed on her back on what must have been concrete, hard enough to splutter and cough up black blobs, her lungs aching. The chill night air had no difference in temperature from his insides, so she realized belatedly what it—he—had actually done. Dripping, her clothing saturated, her hair soaking in him, she shivered. Her eye squinted then widened. At some point he'd lapped the blood away. He was doubled over, hand on the wall for support—groaning like he'd just finished retching. The dripping, gaping hole in his torso wisped—congealed—disappeared.

The Reaper kneeled, and his heavy paw propped her back upright. Her head felt heavy. She was nauseated. She forced her head up, but when she tried to speak, she merely croaked a vowel.

"Never say I never do anything for you." His breath stank of an abattoir. The bone-white of his mask—inscrutable. He reached behind her to take her cuffed hands in his claws. He snapped the chain like it was tissue paper. She wiped her sopping hair from her eye. When she touched it, black smoke trails of him unspooled from the white.

"Gabriel," she tried to say. On one of the rare occasions in her life, she was lost for words.

"I don't want to see you here again," he said. "I can't guarantee the same thing will happen." He pushed her rifle into her hands and turned his back on her.


End file.
